


purge me of this lonely mood

by eddiespaghetti (foxwatson)



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, Fix-It, M/M, it's eddie month and that boy deserves a hug!!!, they hug for 1k of that, this fic is like CUDDLES ONLY, this is no joke just 3k about richie and eddie hugging in an airport
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-15
Updated: 2019-11-15
Packaged: 2021-01-31 12:40:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21446353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxwatson/pseuds/eddiespaghetti
Summary: This is a fic about Richie and Eddie hugging in an airport. That is not a joke. That's all that happens. Happy Eddie Month!
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 50
Kudos: 576





	purge me of this lonely mood

**Author's Note:**

> this is for you gillian!!!!!
> 
> also title credit to relient k's jefferson aeroplane bc thanks to the twitter squad that was my first thought for a title kljasdf

It takes them about a week after everything at Neibolt, but they make it to the airport, he and Eddie both. They’re the last ones in Derry, lingering behind. Eddie because of his injury, and Richie because of obvious, unstatable reasons - reasons he still doesn’t enjoy admitting to himself, because it’s not like they’ll do him any good.

Everyone else flies out early, and Richie and Eddie hover awkwardly around the Town House. Then they take their rental cars back, go through security together and hover awkwardly around the airport.

Eddie’s flight leaves first, which is good, probably. Richie doesn’t think he could actually get on his flight if Eddie was still here and still wanted to spend time with him, but Eddie has shit to get back to and probably wants to get home.

Every once in a while, Richie darts glances at Eddie’s shoulder, at his arm still in a sling, at the damage that’s really there and lasting, and tries to make himself forget about what he saw in the deadlights - Eddie with a spear through his chest, Eddie bleeding out and dying, not even dying in his arms.

“Richie. Hey. I should probably get to my gate.”

They’re sitting at a little table in a food court area. They both got coffee, and Richie got food, and they’ve been sitting there, not talking, for some amount of time. Richie has no idea how long it’s been.

“Right. Sorry, I kind of, uh - you want me to walk down there with you?”

Eddie glances to the side, then shrugs. “I mean, no, that’s - you don’t have to go out of your way, I can manage my one bag and you should probably get to your gate, too. I can do it.”

Richie knows he can do it. It was a selfish question. He stands up, dusts his hands off on his jeans. “Okay. Well. Guess this is- you know, I mean, I’ll text you when I’m in New York. And I don’t know why you would ever be in Chicago, but look me up or something if you have a Most Boring Jobs convention or whatever.”

Snorting, Eddie rolls his eyes, but a hint of a smile creeps up on the corners of his mouth. “Alright, Mr. Mediocre Comedian, if I happen to be analyzing risk in fucking Chicago I’ll let you know. I’m sure I’ll talk to you in the group chat.”

He nods, and looks over Eddie, committing every detail to memory. The still-healing stitches in his cheek, the way his jacket’s fallen off his shoulder a little but it’s held there by the strap on his duffel bag. His polo shirt, his slacks. The little frown lines on his forehead, and in between his eyebrows. His big, dark eyes. The hint of stubble around his mouth. “Yeah, I, uh- I’ll see you around, Eds.”

Eddie nods back at him. “Yeah. See you around.”

Richie waits, expecting him to go.

Instead, Eddie keeps standing there.

“Uh, don’t you have to-”

Eddie blinks at him, and tenses up slightly, in the one shoulder that can. He winces. “Oh. Right, yeah, of course, I’ll just-” He gestures over his shoulder and starts to turn, but he keeps looking back at Richie, almost confused.

There’s something sad about his expression. Richie is a little worried he’s just projecting, maybe, because it feels like some integral part of his chest is being dragged away with every step Eddie takes. But no, Eddie’s face looks genuinely sad. His eyes look a little glassy, even.

Once Eddie is gone, Richie is going to cry.

He is not going to cry until Eddie is gone.

Eddie recedes, still looking back at him, and Richie has no idea what to do with that. Richie probably could have hugged him and gotten away with it, but he was afraid he wouldn’t let go.

Soon, the crowd swallows Eddie, and Richie sits back down at the table alone, sniffling pathetically. There’s probably a dumb joke about how he’s getting his shitty fast food soggy where it’s still unlucky enough to be sitting in front of him, but Eddie isn’t there to hear it anymore.

“Richie.”

Richie jumps, in his seat, frantically reaching up to wipe at his face. “Oh, shit, hey, um, did you forget something? Or-”

Eddie’s standing there, and it’s obvious that he started to cry, too. He’s just standing there, looking down at Richie. “Stand up.”

“Why?”

“...So I can hug you, asshole, don’t make it weird.”

Richie is going to be incapable of not making it weird.

He stands up anyways.

Eddie steps closer, and opens his one good arm. Richie wraps his arms around Eddie and pats him on the back, just a couple of times, a cursory bro hug. He feels tense and awkward, and Eddie does, too. He’s all stiff and tense under Richie’s hands. Figures that they can’t even hug properly, now, when it’s all said and done.

When they both let go, Eddie steps back, and his expression is still all pinched and unhappy.

Unthinking, Richie reaches up and pushes his thumb against the space between Eddie’s eyebrows. “You’re gonna give yourself wrinkles, you keep frowning like that.”

A blush spreads over Eddie’s face, and he stands there staring, his mouth falling open, just slightly. “I already have wrinkles, you fucking weirdo, just- I-” He stammers for another moment or two, then steps back again. “I have to go.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course.” Richie shoves his hands in his pockets like it’ll keep them from doing anything else fucking stupid without his direct permission.

Eddie lingers, for just one moment, but then he turns and walks quickly back towards his gate. He doesn’t look back this time, and Richie watches him walk away, again.

Richie sits heavily back in his seat, practically collapses onto it. He sits there for a while. He doesn’t know how long.

He looks over at the table - at his tray, scattered with cold french fries. They look as pathetic as he feels. Like fucking discarded junk food. That’s a little sad even for him, though, so he picks up the tray and takes it to the trash can, walking slowly. He heaves his duffel bag onto his shoulder, dumps the remaining food in the trashcan, awkwardly fumbles around looking for somewhere to put the tray.

When he does put it down, though, he turns and starts to walk out of the food court, and he finds Eddie, standing at their table, phone in hand, looking around.

At first he thinks he’s imagining it or mistaking someone else, but as he gets closer, it’s undoubtedly Eddie. All the little details are right.

Richie clears his throat. “You forget something this time? Drop your nonexistent contact?”

Eddie turns, frantic, and looks at Richie. He sort of stares, his eyes moving over each part Richie like he’s checking that they’re all there - Richie feels a little awkward under the scrutiny.

“Eds. Hey. You okay?”

“I- No I didn’t forget anything.”

Richie blinks at him, and frowns. “Is there, like, something going on? You’re making me nervous, man.”

For some reason, Eddie’s expression closes off. His eyes go dim, and he glances away, down at his shoe. “No, sorry, I just - my flight got cancelled. I have to get a new one.”

“...Your flight got cancelled?”

“Yeah.” Eddie still won’t look up. “I was just gonna come tell you, you weren’t answering your phone. So I’m gonna go get a new ticket, I don’t know why I-”

“When’s your new flight? You wanna hang out some more?”

“No! I- I don’t know when it is, I haven’t booked it yet, I just thought I should tell you. I’m gonna go book it now. I don’t have time to hang out.”

“You just had time to walk all the way back here?”

Finally, Eddie looks up, and he’s all frowning and pinched up again as he groans in frustration. “Why are you the most annoying person on the fucking planet?”

It’s one thing when Eddie says it in jest, like they’re needling each other. This doesn’t sound like that. It stings a little. “Jesus, Eds. Okay. Sorry your flight got cancelled. I guess I’ll see you around.”

Then, an announcement sounds for Flight 4917 to LaGuardia. It’s started boarding.

Richie knows that’s Eddie’s flight number, because he was muttering it under his breath all morning while they were in line for security. Richie has no fucking idea what’s going on anymore. “I guess your flight got uncancelled?”

Eddie looks at him, and there’s a frantic edge to his expression. Something almost desperate in it. “Rich.”

“Shouldn’t you go try to catch it?”

“Oh for fuck’s - I cancelled my flight. I volunteered to get rebooked. I can’t go back to New York.”

Oh. “Oh. Shit. Uh. Is there like, a reason?”

Eddie opens his mouth, then he closes it again. He looks at the ground. “I don’t want to go back.”

“But you’re like. Married?”

When Eddie looks back up again, he has that terrifying, searching expression on his face. Like Richie somehow has an answer to any kind of question Eddie would ask. Richie is still absolutely certain that he doesn’t. “Richie.”

“Eddie?”

Another beat, and Eddie squeezes his eyes shut, and steps back. Richie hadn’t even really noticed how close they were. “Never mind. This was stupid. You’re right! Obviously you’re right, and I should go home. To my- home. And we should just never talk about this again.”

Eddie turns to walk away, but Richie reaches out to stop him, grabbing onto the strap of his duffel bag. “Wait, wait, don’t just- you said you didn’t want to hang out.”

“Richie, let me go.”

“No, fuck off. You were the one that said you didn’t have time to hang out. Why’d you cancel your flight?”

With an annoyed little exhale, one of those perfect adorable little huffs, Eddie turns back around and looks up at Richie, glaring at him. “I thought you didn’t want me to leave. And I didn’t want to leave. So I was going to stay. It was an impulse decision, don’t - don’t read too much into it, I’m just crazy. That’s hardly a surprise.”

“I mean, of course I don’t want you to leave, but it’s not like we’re never gonna see each other again. I’ll text you all the time, dude.”

Eddie’s face sort of scrunches up and he turns away, yanking on his duffel bag. “Okay, come on, let me go. I can take a hint.”

That doesn’t sound good at all. Eddie yanks harder, and gets away, but he only makes it just outside the food court before Richie catches up with him and grabs his shoulder. “No, Eds, wait, wait. I’m not dropping a hint, I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

“Richie, for fuck’s sake, just let go of me! I did something stupid, but if you will just let me go, I can probably get back on my flight if I just fucking yell loud enough-”

“You said you didn’t want to go! I don’t want you to go.” God, the second half of the sentence comes out way too genuine. Richie’s voice catches a little on the words, and his hand tightens on Eddie’s shoulder just for a moment and he sounds - desperate. He sounds really fucking desperate. It makes Richie pull back, shoving both hands back in his pockets.

Some part of the mess that Richie has suddenly become makes Eddie turn around. He looks at Richie’s expression, checking it. “You don’t want me to go?”

“I wasn’t like, making it up when I said it the first time, I don’t know why you’re listening now, of course I don’t want you to go, but you can’t just - you have a job and shit, and a wife, and probably a house or something.”

Eddie takes another step towards him. “And what if I don’t give a shit about any of that, huh? What if- what if I hate my fucking job and I hate my house and I want to get a divorce, because I’m pretty sure my entire life is one big fucking joke and I’m the punchline?”

“Hey. Eds, man, you’re not a punchline. If you’re - if you hate it that much, just come to Chicago, you can sleep on my couch or something-”

With that, Eddie takes another small step towards him. “Yeah? You don’t mind?”

“Of course not. If you need somewhere to go, you just had to ask.”

“Sorry I’m really fucking bad at asking.”

Richie snorts. “Yeah, no kidding.”

In that moment, though, it starts to sink in. Eddie is here, standing in front of him. The stubble, the big, dark eyes, the stitches on his cheek. He’s right there, and he’s not going back to New York, and he might even be booking a flight to Chicago with Richie.

“Alright, c’mere.”

Reaching out, Richie pulls Eddie in by his one good shoulder, and wraps an arm around him. Once Eddie is close, Richie pulls him into a real embrace, holding him with both arms around his back, one hand resting over his shoulder blades. Other than passing jokes, Richie knows better than to describe Eddie as small, because he’s a fucking firecracker and he’s not even that short, but in Richie’s arms like this, he feels small. If Richie wanted to, he could rest his chin on top of Eddie’s head, and Richie’s hand spans a good part of his upper back.

For a long moment, Eddie’s still tense. Richie can feel it, again, the way he’s holding back, tightly wound like a spring. He’s almost shivering with it, like if he moves something will shatter or disappear right in front of him.

“Are you gonna let go of me anytime soon?” Eddie asks.

There’s something about the way he says it, like it’s an obligation. Even if Richie could ignore the tone, there’s no ignoring the fact that Eddie could just back away or let go or shove Richie off, but he’s not doing any of those things. He’s standing there, and letting Richie hold him, and checking to see if Richie’s going to let him go.

So Richie, starting to laugh, takes his hand that isn’t on Eddie’s back, and moves it up to the back of his head, keeping Eddie in place. “Nope. Not until we have to go to the gate.”

Eddie laughs, too, and the real revelation is, he smiles, and Richie _ can feel it _. Eddie’s face is pressed right against his collarbone, and through the thin fabric of his shirt, he can feel the way Eddie’s face shifts, and the huff of his laughter, breath-warm against Richie’s skin. “Okay.”

If Richie thought the hug was already going great, though, that was nothing compared to what happens then. Richie ends up completely overwhelmed, because Eddie just _ melts _ against him. One arm, the arm not still cradled in the sling and pressed against Richie’s chest, comes up around Richie’s waist, and holds him back, and Eddie leans his head forward to press against Richie’s shoulder and just rests his weight there, really settling in to the hug.

It’s life changing. It’s maybe the best thing Richie has ever felt in his life. Eddie is pressed against him completely, from head to toe, and he’s showing no indication of letting go or moving at all any time soon. The fact that they’re still in an airport couldn’t be further from Richie’s mind.

He shifts, just a little. He moves the hand he has on the back of Eddie’s head down to the back of his neck, and moves the one on Eddie’s back down a little. He brushes over the bumps of Eddie’s spine and ends up with his hand pressed close to one side of Eddie’s rib cage, where he can feel it move while Eddie breathes.

Eddie shivers, just slightly. “Why’re your hands so fucking cold?”

“Cause we’re old and I’ve got shitty circulation, shut up.”

Snorting, Eddie turns his head, pressing his cheek against Richie’s chest, almost nuzzling as he moves. It’s so fucking cute Richie feels like he might die. Then again, he’s not dead yet, somehow.

Carefully, Richie moves his hand again, and traces his thumb across Eddie’s hairline, right above his ear. Then he moves to the space between Eddie’s eyebrows again, pressing away any hint of a remaining frown.

Eddie huffs out another laugh and presses his face back against Richie’s shirt. “Fucking stop that, it tickles. Or save it for when we’re at your place or something.”

Richie grins. He leans his own head down so he can press his cheek against the top of Eddie’s head, and he sighs. His breath stirs Eddie’s hair just a little, and Richie has a sudden and impulsive urge to mess Eddie’s hair all up like he used to when they were kids and to see how it would look. He feels like if he does it now, though, it’ll ruin the moment. He wants it to last a little longer.

Eddie is warm in his arms, now, and still so relaxed. He’s just breathing, slowly, not squirming or impatient, not trying to get away. He’s content, and just resting there in Richie’s embrace. At the thought, Richie moves again and wraps his arms around Eddie properly again, holding him tighter, and closer.

It makes Eddie exhale, another little huff, and he starts to laugh. “I’m not going anywhere, Rich.”

Clearly, even though it’s way too good to be true, it’s the truth. Eddie doesn’t even seem worried about when their flight to Chicago leaves. “I know.” Richie says.

He loosens his hold again, though he keeps one arm around Eddie’s waist, and scrubs his fingers through the back of Eddie’s hair, just a little. Even that just makes Eddie kind of nuzzle against him again, moving so Richie can see his expression.

His nose is all scrunched up, but when Richie stops, he frowns a little. So Richie starts again. “God you’re so fucking cute,” Richie says, and it’s more an unintentional whisper than anything else.

A flush spreads across Eddie’s face, but he just scrunches his nose up again with his eyes closed. “I’m 40 years old, dipshit. You used to say that when we were kids to make fun of me.”

“I wasn’t making fun of you, I was being serious, that was like the most serious I ever was.”

At that, Eddie lifts his head up, but he doesn’t let go or back away. Instead, he just blinks up at Richie’s face, while Richie tries to figure out if he can somehow eat his own words out of the air and take them back. Then, Eddie starts to smile, something sort of awed and absolutely beautiful. “Yeah? Who knew you were such a fucking sap?”

Eddie moves his one hand, then, and digs his fingers in against Richie’s ribs, making him giggle and wince away, but he’s still not letting go of Eddie either. “No, stop, shit, shit! Ah, you’re the one who tried to pull a big fucking dramatic airport moment!”

Finally, Richie lets go and dances back, but he’s still laughing, and Eddie is laughing, too, now, something big and bright and happy. Richie’s never seen him laugh like that since they all got back, not even at the restaurant.

Richie just stops, stands there and smiles at him.

“Come here, idiot.”

And Eddie reaches out, and pulls him in, and they kiss, right there in the Portland Airport.

And then, they go home.

**Author's Note:**

> gillian wanted a fic where they hug for 1k words and i was like. you know what. that's what eddie deserves for eddie month!!! so i gave it to him. happy birthday to my best beloved man.
> 
> find me on tumblr or twitter @eddykaspbraks, i'm a lot more active on twitter where i just Yell constantly about richie and eddie and all my aus and all the fics i'm trying to write simultaneously


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